Don't Lose Your Head
by YourLovelyMajesty
Summary: Set shortly after E-Day. Baird and Cole are still in training and Baird is once again at odds with his helmet. Oh, and everyone and everything around him. Rated T for language; one-shot.


Damon Baird hit cover too hard and jolted his neck. He dropped his Lancer as his helmeted head snapped back against the concrete barrier. He cursed long and loud.

What was the point of all this training? The grubs were out there today killing more people, and here he was, stuck with the rest of the idiots in his class. He knew how to hold a gun and shoot—that's all anyone needed to know to protect themselves. Running and taking cover—today's pathetic lesson—was instinct, and Baird's were fairly strong. He knew how to keep his ass alive, and taking fire from his sergeants wasn't the way.

Augustus Cole crouched beside him, peeking around the barrier. How he could see anything in the helmet, Baird didn't know. Cole held his Lancer at the ready and prepared to charge to the next marked piece of cover: a beaten sheet of metal that had definitely seen better days. It didn't look like it would cover both men. Then again, they had come through half of the course full of similar looking barriers.

"Having fun, Damon?" Cole asked with an exhilarated laugh.

"Like a kid in a candy store," Baird growled.

"That's the spirit! Come on, let's move up."

"No thanks. I'm happy right where I am." Baird adjusted his helmet for the thousandth time—he still had trouble turning his head—and picked up his Lancer. "In fact, this spot right here? My happy place. Greatest place in the whole fucking world."

"They won't let you on the frontlines with that attitude, Damon. Lighten up, man!" Cole grabbed Baird's shoulder and he nearly fell over. Sometimes he wondered if Cole realized how big he was. "Coast is clear. Come on."

Baird figured Cole would drag him along if he didn't run; he was just that kind of guy. Cole took off like a flash and Baird sprinted after him towards the dingy sheet of metal. What Cole thought was clear was really just the calm before the storm. As they advanced across the field, bullets rained down on them from an elevated ledge. Cole slid into cover while Baird tried to close the gap. A bullet sunk into the ground by his foot, nearly avoiding his boot. Suddenly he was more aware of the mock battlefield. He ducked beside Cole, placing his hand against the barricade to slow his momentum.

"Holy shit! They're really trying to kill us!" he panted. Beside him, Cole wasn't even winded; he was used to all the running, being a big Thrashball star. _And I'm just the worthless spoiled brat; haven't run a day in my life. Damn._

"Naw, they wouldn't do that," Cole replied. "But they said this is the best time to be a sergeant—get to shoot at the rooks!" He laughed and mock fired his rifle around cover. None of their weapons were loaded; only the sergeants had that privilege today. "You ready, baby? One left. Gotta go left this time."

"I'm not going anywhere. Can't see shit in this helmet." Baird was nearly blinded; his peripheral vision was completely gone. Wearing the helmet always reminded Baird of his grandfather's horses, how they would put blinders on them. He could only see the objective in front of him. _Or my death. Whichever happens first._ With a strained grunt, he pulled the helmet off his head, revealing his pale, sweating face. Immediately his radio clicked in his ear.

"Private Baird, I'm giving you one warning. You're going against regulation. Put your fucking helmet back on."

Baird had expected Iron Balls to yell at him. Sergeant Iredell—Iron Balls when his back was turned—took pride in his soldiers, but Baird couldn't care less if he was mauled by a Corpser. The man had been on his ass about the helmet since day one, and Baird had received several chargers because of it.

Baird turned off his radio. "Give me another charge, you old bastard," he muttered. He relished the ability to finally turn his head and take in the entire field. He held his rifle close as he pushed his damp bangs out of his eyes and leaned around Cole, wary of any stray bullets, to see the next location.

"Oh man, ol' Iron Balls will be _pissed_ when you get outta here. He probably told his gunners to kill you now!"

"They can try, but I'm not losing to him. Charging me for not wearing a helmet—fuck off, old man." He breathed in the musty air. Since entering the field, his nerves hadn't really calmed down; the breathing deep thing some spiritual rookie tried to feed him was a load of bull. He was anxious, but he couldn't focus on that yet. _Just pretend I'm not allergic to bullets. I can do that._ "Okay, I'm moving up."

"I'd cover my pretty little head, if I were you," Cole laughed.

Baird dashed for the next piece of cover. Was it just his imagination or were they _really_ trying to kill him? Bullets whizzed by his head and shot at the path in front of him. His heart pounded in his ears, he was already out of breath—he just had to stay low. That's what everyone said; no matter what, stay low. They wouldn't really kill him, right? Sure, he'd pissed off most of the sergeants somehow, but did they honestly expect him to act as a mindless, inferior being? Baird made his distaste for the army known from the first day. He only joined for his inheritance. Didn't even matter now; his parents were dead and his money was gone, just like half of the Tyran nation.

_Thanks a lot, grubs._

Baird slid on his knees and a bullet grazed his shoulder; he felt the armor chip. He dropped to the ground and rolled into the final barricade. His back slammed against the concrete, knocking the air out of him, but he was under the shooting ledge. He was safe.

He heard Cole laughing and whooping from the last piece of cover. "Damon baby, you could be a star! You shoulda played for the Cougars too," he called.

Baird could hear the sergeants above him reloading. He knew Cole would be on his way, but Baird continued to lie on his side and catch his breath. He should have accepted Cole's invitation to jog every morning; he never realized he was so out of shape. Whatever. He made it. That was all that mattered to him. Baird laughed weakly and knew he had another charge coming his way as he called, "You missed me! And to think you call yourselves sergeants. My granny could shoot better than that!"

"_Incoming!"_ Cole yelled as another barrage of bullets started.

Baird sat up to avoid being trampled. Cole crossed the field and landed next to Baird with an excited whoop.

"We did it, baby! Ha ha, wait 'til those ugly ass grubs see us! They _all_ be running for their mamas!"

"That's only if we're assigned to the same squad, genius," Baird said. "And that's a very small chance when you think about all the bodies they've enlisted in, say, the past month alone."

"Look at you sounding all scientific after a battle. I can't even get my biology straight, see?" Cole held up his gloved hand; it was noticeably trembling. "Man, I thought Thrashball was exciting—this is a real rush!"

Baird ignored him and rolled his neck and shoulders. He must have hurt something on his first impact, and narrowly avoiding a bullet didn't help anything. He had to gain some muscle quickly, otherwise he'd be forced to work in CIC with the women and invalid. He would rather kill or work on machines than be stuck behind a computer.

The men stood—Cole helped Baird to his feet and nearly dislocated his shoulder. _Seriously, does he not realize he's a walking wrecking ball?_ Baird wondered, rubbing his shoulder. They left the training area only to be met by Sergeant Iredell. He looked like a wall of muscle ready to charge at Baird. Cole and Baird saluted.

"Private Baird, _where _is your helmet?" Iredell demanded.

"You could say it was a casualty in the field, sir. It got in my way so I left it behind," Baird replied in his usual sarcastic tone.

Iredell glanced at Cole. "Private Cole, good work today. Sorry I had to pair you with this jackass. You're dismissed."

Cole removed his helmet and beamed at Iredell. "Thank you, sir. Try to go easy on Damon today; at least leave a leg or somethin' for us to bury."

Baird shrugged. He didn't need Cole coming to his defense. "I've gone toe-to-toe with this cranky old bastard too many times already; I know how to handle him. It's not like you can kick me out, right, Iron Balls? Every abled body counts on the frontlines. Listen, I'll just show myself to your office; drop by whenever you feel like it." He propped his rifle on his shoulder as he made his way for the exit. At the doorway, he stopped for a moment and swallowed his pride. "Oh, hey Cole, mind if I join you tomorrow morning?"

Cole chuckled. "Naw, man. Bring your sweatband and meet me at the crack of dawn."

Baird waved and continued on his way out. His school teacher once said he had trouble relating to others and making friends. Well, he liked proving people wrong all the time. _One step at a time, right?_


End file.
